Kindness of Strangers Ch. 03

The after-taste of his cum on my tongue suddenly became sour and bitter. Is this my 'new life,' I wondered. Am I just going to be Daddy's one o'clock blowjob?

The familiar ache in my balls forced me to stand. My hard prick pushed-out the flimsy fabric of the panties, a sizable pre-cum stain had formed; my only reaction was---should I masturbate on the leather sofa, or on the silk sheets of the bed?

I started at the sound of Mr. Toole's voice, "It's only me!" He had let himself in and when I saw him in the hallway, he came to a sudden halt, and stared at my condition.

Just like Daddy, his eyes bugged-wide when he saw me wearing women's panties. It was the first time he'd seen me like this. What is it about grown men who get excited over boy's in panties?

"I, uh...saw Earl leave..." he said, and to my amazement, he reached down with a hand and unashamedly massaged his erection right in front of my eyes while walking towards me.

His eyes rapidly moving up-and-down my body. He stopped inches from me and placed his hands on my shoulders and applied a gentle downward pressure.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I went to my knees and opened the slacks of a second man in less than fifteen minutes, but of course, the moment his beautiful erection popped into view, I took it deep inside my mouth, and became lost in the sucking. I really am a cock-whore...

My balls ached for release. I debated about fondling myself...normally, I would never act so bold in front of a man, the man's pleasure always comes first, but what the heck---he stroked himself in front of me so why not?

I released his balls from my hand and gripped my hard prick thru the panties.

"Mmmmmmm..." I groaned into his hot cock when I felt the sensuous material of the panties on my own flesh.

It was difficult at first...Mr. Toole liked a firmer grasp on his cock than I enjoy, so applying different pressures on his hard-on and my own required concentration. When I felt I had mastered the proper technique, any and all thoughts or misgivings drained from my mind. I abandoned myself to giving both of us pleasure.

I found even with different pressures, I could still match the speed of stroking both cocks at the same time. My hands became a blur---his hips began thrusting---his moans grew louder.

I worried by not being able to feel his balls contract in my hand, I would not be forewarned of his climax, and I might miss swallowing his entire load...and I was right---when his first salvo filled my mouth, I couldn't swallow fast enough, and rivulets of sperm and semen escaped my mouth and slowly ran down my cheeks.

"JESUS---JESUS---JESUS---JESUS..." he cried out and his excitement caused my boiling balls to burst and I filled my panties with stream-after-stream of hot cum.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMM..." I moaned into his flesh.

I did manage to gulp down most of his spunk, and was surprised how delicious it tasted compared with Daddy's.

When I licked clean his slowly deflating penis and it slipped from my mouth he exclaimed, "DAMN BOY---YOU CERTAINLY LOVE COCK---DON'T YOU!!??"

I don't know why I blushed...I could have easily answered, "YES---I DO LOVE COCK!!"

The cum in my panties sticking to my flesh turned cold almost immediately. It was very uncomfortable and I wanted to wash myself, but I also had a question I wanted to ask him. I stood as he adjusted his clothes, his eyes never leaving the mess I had made of myself.

"Uh, Mr. Toole...the 'other boys' who, uh, 'lived here'...what did they, uh, mean to Earl? Were they just, uh, 'friends' of his?"

His eyes narrowed; I thought I detected a sad expression.

"Damn, boy," he said softly, "...you really believe you're going to have a 'relationship' with him, don't you?"

His words hit me hard. The light went on inside my brain; I cursed myself for being so stupid. I tried to blink away the tears that were forming in my eyes.

"Johnny," he said; it was the first time he ever called me anything other than 'boy.' "You have to understand...Earl is an important businessman around here, and a family man...he has this secret you and I know, but no one else can ever find out---it would ruin him!"

And then he said, I guessed to ease my pain, "He likes you very much---better than those other boys...but you're going to have to play by his rules if you want to continue seeing him...he will never spend more than 2-3 hours here with you, and needless to say, he cannot be seen in public with you...I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but...you're a nice boy...I like you...I want you to know how it's going to be...you really expected more, didn't you?"

I was at a loss for words. Yes, I did expect more---yes, I thought I moved all this way to have a relationship with a wonderful man...I had no idea I was here simply to be his fucktoy!

"I, uh, well, you're right---I thought there would be more," I admitted.

"Johnny, there CAN'T be more...if you cannot accept your situation, I would recommend you go back to California, BUT..." he said, then I saw a slight smile form on his face, "...you'll have a good life here, and I would miss you a great deal if you left!"

I didn't want to go back to Santa Cruz...outside of my mother, there was absolutely no reason to live there.

I smiled at him, but it was a painful smile. I replied, "I guess I could stay here awhile..."

"You know, Johnny, if you get lonely there is a queer bar only a couple blocks from here...maybe you can go there and meet, uh, a 'friend'! he said.

"Will you show it to me? Want to have a drink with me?" I asked.

An odd expression washed over his face. I could tell what his answer would be.

"I can't be seen in a fag joint---I have a reputation too, you know!"

Sometimes men make me want to scream and shout at the top of my lungs!

It was the first Friday night I could remember in a very long time staying home alone.

I briefly thought of going to the bar, but Mr. Toole's final admonishment scared me away: "If you go to 'that' bar---be very careful," he said in an ominous tone of voice, "...there has been a rash of fag-bashing in the neighborhood, and the cops don't seem to be interested in finding the assholes doing it!"

On Saturday, I decided to drive there and check it out in the daylight. It was less than two-blocks from my apartment, it would be an easy walk, but it was off the main street, and the trees and bushes surrounding the parking lot could very well hide the people who would do harm to people like me.

I liked the name of it: "The Crooked Arrow"...subtle, and clever.

After Wal-Mart, I went home and spent Saturday afternoon inside. Four-hours of television wore me down. I made a salad and fried-up a ground beef patty. Once I cleaned the kitchen, I dreaded watching more television.

What the heck---there's a couple hours of sunlight remaining---I could have 2-3 drinks and get out of the bar before dark!

I decided to dress conservatively: a white, Budweiser-logo tee shirt and blue jeans...from what I've seen so far in Texas, I'd look like a thousand other guys...except MY tee shirt was clean.

There were only 9-10 cars in the parking lot so getting a space fairly close to the door was no problem. Like always, once I opened the car door and stepped outside I was mugged by the humidity...does anyone get used to this?

I went inside and was immediately blinded by darkness. While I waited for my vision to adjust, I wondered why so many gay bars keep the lighting this dim? Desperate and horny men don't really care what a potential partner looks like when their dicks are hard and their nuts are swelling, hahaha...

To the right of me I saw an empty room; there were many booths surrounding a dance floor...straight ahead of me were ten pool tables; half of them were occupied. I spotted a very long bar to my left and walked towards it. I guessed there had to be at least twenty-five empty bar stools out of thirty. I reminded myself it was only 6:30.

I sat at a stool in the middle, no one near me in either direction.

A cute bartender, about six-feet tall and in his early thirties, with muscles and a sculpted chest that threatened to tear open a too-tight tee shirt came over and asked me for my id.

"California, huh?" he said. I was amazed he could read my drivers license in the dim light without squinting. "You on vacation?"

"No, I live here now," I said with a smile.

He gave me a wide smile of his own, and an enthusiastic, "Nice...welcome to Texas! What can I get you?"

"Coors Light, please."

"Draft or bottle?"

"Bottle."

When he set the bottle in front of me he pointed at my tee shirt and playfully said, "Hope I don't get into trouble with Budweiser for giving you a Coors!"

"It's okay, I'm full of contradictions," I replied. "It's made by Hanes, but I'm a Fruit-of-the-Loom kind of guy!"

He liked that line and laughed, then stuck out his hand and said, "Nice to meet you, I'm 'Boomer'!"

"I'm John," I said and shook his hand. He had a firm, manly grip. My prick twitched inside my briefs. "You guys get busy here?"

"Yeah, later on...Saturday night is 'date night,' so it doesn't fill up until eleven...most other nights around six..."

Someone on the end of the bar called out "BOOMER---ANOTHER ROUND!"

And before he left he gave me a sincere smile and a wink, and said, "Sure would like to spend more time getting to know you, John...I hope you become a 'regular'!" and he was gone.

OH MY---a surge of excitement raced thru my body and caused my prick to fully harden. I hadn't reacted like this to a good-looking guy in a long time...a compliment ALWAYS makes me feel good.

My eyes became accustomed to the darkness and I surveyed the other people in the bar. All guys, and most of them were in their twenties or thirties. Quite a few leather vests and tight tee shirts, and EVERYONE wore blue jeans.

I heard a high-pitched squeal coming from one of the pool tables and turned and saw a kid wearing short-shorts like the ones I sometimes wore. Well, everyone except HIM was wearing blue jeans. He was jumping up-and-down yelling "I WIN---I WIN!!"

He not only was wearing short-shorts, but had on a pink, cut-off tee shirt that showed his navel and firm belly. I watched him bounce around the pool table, and immediately thought to myself, "What a little fairy!"

I know—I know...that sounds hypocritical but I can't help myself. This kid personified the stereotypical gay person that straight people pictured every time time they heard the word 'gay.' Most gay men ARE NOT the swishy, woman-like creatures the average person thinks us to be.

I watched as his playing partner handed the kid money, and the kid exuberantly bounded for the bar. He stood beside me and shouted in my ear, "BOOMER—BOOMER---ANOTHER COORS AND A SLIPPERY NIPPLE!" then he giggled like a schoolgirl.

I glanced in his direction and immediately thought, This kid doesn't look a day over eighteen---how can he be drinking in here?

"I know," he blurted out to me. "I get THAT look a lot! I have an id that says I'm twenty-four!"

"OH," I said somewhat embarrassed he'd noticed me staring at him. "Well, you do look awfully young---lucky you!"

I don't know why, maybe just to make conversation, I added, "I have shorts at home identical to yours."

He narrowed his eyes, made a gesture towards the pool tables, and in deadly earnestness said, "Todd is all mine---I don't want YOU going after him!"

He caught me by surprise. I coughed and said, "I have no intention of 'going after' him."

His cute face softened then he smiled and said, "Well, you're the prettiest boy in here---outside of me, that is!"

I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

He stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Benji!"

I shook his limp-as-a-washcloth hand and replied, "I'm John."

Boomer brought the kids drinks and 'Benji' paid for them and returned to the pool room.

I looked into the mirror on the back bar once again searching for the BOTTOM stamp that must surely be imprinted on my forehead. Why else would complete strangers assume I was submissive?

The bar was getting crowded. I enjoy people-watching, so I stayed longer than I'd planned. I'd had two beers, and was now working on my third vodka/soda. I was still sober enough to drive so I decided to have one final drink before I left.

I was grateful the crowd mostly drowned-out Benji's theatrical cries of glee from the pool room. At one point a body stood beside me waiting for drinks; in the mirror, I recognized Benji's intended target, Todd.

"Hey, cutie, you want a drink?" he said tapping me on the shoulder.

I smiled at him, but momentarily froze. There was something in his eyes that didn't look right...maybe he'd already had one too many drinks.

"No, no, thanks anyway," I said.

He left with his drinks and was immediately replaced with an older guy. The bar was packed now, and the man stood very close to me. He drained a scotch-on-the-rocks in two gulps and ordered another one.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked me.

"Well, uh, I probably should be going," I said.

"BOOMER---one for my friend, too!" he said ignoring my reply.

Here we go again, I thought. Another stranger who thinks he can do or say anything he likes around me. WHAT IS IT ABOUT ME?

We made small talk mostly about the heat and humidity. I wasn't regulating my intake of alcohol...I tried to keep up with him...he ordered a third scotch for us and my brain was fuzzy.

He held up his glass to make a toast, we clinked glasses and he said, "Bottoms-up!" and he broke into a laughing jag.

I wasn't sure what was so funny, but thought it had to do with his emphasis on the word 'Bottoms' in his toast.

He suddenly pushed a twenty-dollar bill in front of me.

He said in my ear, "Care to join me in the backseat of my car, cutie?"

Okay---now it was time to go. "Uh, no thanks!" I said as I finished the drink and got off the bar stool.

He grabbed my arm and it hurt. "You fucking cock-tease!" he hissed at me. "You drink my booze and you won't even show me 'thanks'?"

I broke free of his grip and got lost in the crowd. I looked to see if he was following me...no, thank God, he's still at the bar!

I hurried out the front door and took a deep gulp of the humid night air. The close encounter had almost sobered me up. My car was only fifty-feet from the entrance. I was nearly there when I thought I heard something. I paused and listened...

"STOP----HELP ME!!"

Shivers of fear raced up-and-down my spine. I tried to clear my head and figure out where the sound was coming from.

"YOU'RE HURTING ME!!"

"SHUT-UP, FAGGOT!!"

Then there was a dull THUD...I'd heard it before---it was the sickening sound of a boot striking someone's skull.

"NOOOOO—YOU'RE KILLING ME---YOU'RE KILLING ME..."

"WE'RE GONNA MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN, FAGGOT!!"

The hair on my neck stood straight---I'd never felt such fear and panic!!

I stared at the bushes to the left-side of the parking lot---the noises were coming from there. I jumped into the car, started the engine, and the tires squealed as I hurried toward the sounds.

I saw figures in the bushes. I lined-up the headlights, flicked on the bright lights and shone them on the group in the bushes. I then laid into the car horn---never letting up on it. I saw four guys standing over a cringing body on the ground.

OH MY GOD---I RECOGNIZED THE SHORT-SHORTS---IT WAS BENJI GETTING BEATEN!!

He was curled-up in the fetal position as his attackers froze in the headlights.

OH MY GOD---THAT'S TODD!!

Still laying on the horn, I snatched-up my cell phone, and with all four attackers still staring into the headlights, I snapped a photo of them. I couldn't believe how calm and logical I had remained.

I watched Todd deliver one more kick to Benji's chest then he shouted to the others, "WE BETTER GET OUTTA HERE!" and all four of the attackers scrambled thru the bushes to the other side and disappeared into the darkness.

A stream of guys came running out of the bar led by Boomer the Bartender. It was only then I became nervous. I was shaking so badly I had trouble opening the car door. I quickly composed myself and ran to Benji rolling on the muddy ground in agony. He was covered in mud and blood and he was wet with what smelled like urine. The assholes not only beat him---they pissed on him, too!

Boomer arrived next. We both knelt over Benji. "CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I shouted to no one in particular.

That caused Benji to get to his knees and cry out, "NO-NO-NO---I'M OKAY---I DON'T WANT AN ABULANCE!!"

Boomer turned to me and asked, "Did you get a good look at those guys?"

"Just the one guy---Todd---he and Benji were shooting pool together!" I said then remembered, "OH---I took a picture of them!"

"JESUS CHRIST---that's great, John! I'll give you my cell number and you can send it to me...we'll get that photo posted in every gay bar in Houston! This shit has been going on way too long!"

"Benji, what do you want us to do?" asked Boomer. "You want me to call the cops?"

I thought it a strange question---OF COURSE he should call the cops!!

"No-no-no-noooo..." whimpered Benji. "NO POLICE!!"

We checked him out. There were no visible marks on his face. His legs were bruised, and I'm sure his back, chest and belly were bruised, too, but he appeared to be okay.

Benji was able to stand on his own, and when it was determined there would be no ambulance and no police, the bar patrons slowly filed back inside.

Boomer patted me on the back and said, "Nice job, John---you may have saved his life!"

"Yeah, uh, thanks---I'll take him home," I said.

Benji and I stood alone in the harsh spotlight of my car's bright lights.

"I'll take you home, Benji...where do you live?" I asked him.

"I, uh, well..." he snuffled.

"I don't know this town so you'll have to give me directions...where do you live?" I repeated.

"John," he said softly, choking back tears, "I live right here."

"Here? WHERE here?" I asked.

My heart sank as he motioned around the woods and bushes and again said, "Here...I've lived HERE for a week!"

"Huh? Why? Don't your parents live in Houston?" I asked.

He wouldn't return my gaze. "My, uh, my dad kicked me out of the house last week."

"What happened? Why would he do that?" I asked, growing increasingly concerned.

"He doesn't like me being gay..." he said so sadly it broke my heart.

It was a story I'd heard a few times in San Francisco. The son finally musters enough courage to come out of the closet only to be met with scorn and derision from the father, and sometimes both parents.

It always made my blood boil that someone's own flesh and blood could turn their backs on their son or daughter or brother or sister because they were born gay.

My God, we live in the 21st century, when are people going to get over their narrow-minded bigotries, and accept human beings for who and what they are?

I had to make a quick decision because it began drizzling, but more than that, he and I were alone in the bushes and I was nervous Todd and his criminal friends would return.

"C'mon, get your bag, you're coming home with me!" I told the trembling boy.

"John, thank you, but I can't let you go out of your way like this---we only just met and I don't want to make trouble for anyone," he said softly.

"This is not a debate, Benji," and then I added louder than I probably should have, "GET YOUR BAG---let's get out of here before your friend Todd comes back!"

The mention of Todd's name spurred Benji into action. I opened the trunk of my car, found several old bath towels I hadn't unpacked, took Benji's bag from him and placed it in the trunk, then opened the car door and placed towels on the passengers seat and back rest. I guided Benji inside then quickly got behind the wheel and drove the short distance to my apartment.